


Don't M-M-Move

by Shiban



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Stuttering, Stuttering Diego Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-23 10:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18150398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiban/pseuds/Shiban
Summary: (Written by an actual person who stutters)Diego always stuttered, ever since he was a boy. His mother, while attempting to assist, said useless information that went in one ear and out the other. A refusal to attend speech therapy caused the stutter to manifest itself into Diego's biggest regret. The enemies never listen, only laugh and mock. But, a deaf enemy will change how he views himself. Knives are scary enough.





	1. How He Was Born

He was six when it was first brought up. They were having dinner with their mother. All seven of them were, their father of course, crammed in his office pouring over papers none but him cared about. Seven of them, one more distant, but not distant enough to notice yet.

It was halfway through the meal when Diego began speaking, and to him, it felt like it was almost over by the time he finished. Time rushed for him, forcing him to catch up or shut up, neither of which seemed like good options.

It was 6:38 pm when Five asked, "Mom, why does Diego talk so weird?" and it was 6:39 when she answered.

Her answer was not assuring. It was bland and quick, making Diego stiffen his shoulders against the back of the chair, "That's just how he was born, dear."

And it was so. He was born with a perpetual frog in his mouth, blocking syllable after syllable until he stopped yelling at the enemies.

It came up many times. So many times, that by the time he was thirteen, every one of his siblings had asked at least once. He was never the one to answer. Grace. It was always Grace who answered, the same way she had to Five.

Others asked too, of course. 'Kids will be cruel' as They say. And They were right, the kids were cruel.

In the years to follow it began to leave him, coming and going, as unpredictable as storm tides. By the time he was an adult, it barely showed itself. Only in times of great emotion were those W's much harder to say. In those moments, everything around him left. He focused only on pushing that goddamned word out. That's another reason why he never yelled at bag guys. It took too much energy just to yell.

***********************************************

Back in his room. It was comedic to think that just seconds ago it was crumbled mess of magma and rubble. So comedic, that he laughed. He laughed and laughed at his mirror. He laughed at his body still lanky and weak, still a young boy. He laughed until he forgot why he was laughing, and even then, it took too much energy to stop.

Five had succeeded, and the apocalypse now loomed years away. It was enough time. Enough time for Diego to stare at himself in the mirror, confused beyond words. He had no idea where he made a wrong turn in life to end up here; a man in a boy's body laughing at his little mask and schoolboy uniform. Yet, in some way he was relieved to have a second chance. He would do things right this time.

The family meeting was held in the dining room, since after they arrived they bolted to their mirrors to see themselves. Of course, Five had no interest in doing this. He knew what he looked like, and he wasn't any happier this time than the last.

They sat, all six of them, around the table. Vanya was asleep, in her locked room. They didn't know if she would wake, and some of them hoped she wouldn't. "Well, seems like it worked. How much time we got...?" Klaus was the first to speak, "oh right, shit ton."

Five's eye-roll could be heard in his voice, "at least we can change things now. We can set everything right."

Klaus leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table, bouncing his leg, "We kill Vanya."

"W-w-w.....-w.-w." Diego inhaled, one time before each letter to no avail. We are not killing Vanya he wanted to say. Time dragged on, and with each forced breath his lungs shriveled. He began to fidget as he tried to speak, grabbing the table and attempting to force the word out. It didn't work, and he was left gasping with memories of his mom always repeating "imagine the word. Imagine the word." That didn't work either.

And they all turned suddenly to him. This time, there was no domino mask to cover it up. No mask to hide the anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It came back to the five others quickly. He was just 'born with it.' Though he could not hear them, he knew what they were thinking. Just as they could read his sorrowful eyes, he could read theirs. So much pity held back. So much pity that he felt like he deserved after having to catch his breath mid- word.

When the silence became too silent, yet also much too loud, he punched the wooden table, "NO!" He took a shaky breath, the air from his mouth scattering as he exhaled, "FUCK THIS!" He out a knife and threw it, the blade digging in to one of the wooden drawers.

The rest of the academy kept their mouths shut as Diego stormed, tears on his cheeks, to his room.


	2. Love is an Echo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by and best accompanied with 'Hearing' by Sleeping at Last

They did not bother him that night; no one had the guts to. No one felt it was ‘their place’ to speak, so the night only slowed in its movement. They were right; it wasn’t any of their places to speak. Their words were clear, concise. That didn’t mean he wanted to be alone though. Grace was charging, as the night prior she had been up cleaning late into the night. He truly was alone,

Yet, there he was, huddled on his bed with his lanky arms pulled around his knees, taking quick and short gasps of heavy air. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the thick dust and flap of old books that clogged his lungs. Maybe he was just nervous, scared of how they would ever stop the apocalypse. Maybe he just needed to re-adjust to his prepubescent body, and in time fluency would come. He knew these were all false. At this time in his life was when it became the worst. When almost every ‘open mouthed’ word -as he called them- had him stumbling on uneven slopes to silence. He wasn’t ready to be back at square one. 

Oddly, he slept quite soundly that night, his body young and tired, though his conscience stayed the same. Couldn’t they have traveled even just two years in the future? It would have been enough… it would have been enough.

 

The breakfast the following morning was quiet. There was no record on rock climbing techniques playing, which made the silence even stronger between them. The first to speak (besides of course the passing ‘good morning’ and ‘yo where’s the syrup’?) was Luther, who seemed to have no intention of staying off task. Yet, it was difficult to take him seriously anymore. With no ape arms to assist in his frightening form, Luther was perfectly average. 

“We can’t just pretend everything will work out. We can’t just sit here and eat breakfast as if everything is normal.”

We… everything….will. All these open mouth words do easily pushed through work… out… 12 in total. If he were to say them he suspected he would have messed up on at least 9, though the absolute number was uncertain. He began to mutter some of those words to himself. 

“Eeeeeverything.E-e-e-e-everything. O…..o...out.” Even in whispers he knew exactly how he would stutter and when and how many times and when he would breathe and…. He knew exactly how he would sound, and he couldn’t stop it.

“Diego?” Allison, who was sitting beside him, was the one to hear his muttering, “You alright?”

“Practicing.” It was easy, simple, short.

His two sisters were the closests to knowing how he felt. Allison had been mute for a few days prior to their de-aging, and in some way, Vanya had always been silenced. He was surprised a joke hadn't slipped through Klaus’ mouth yet, though he suspected it was only a matter of time. Klaus didn't really have a filter.

Against Luther's wishes, they did just sit there and pretend everything was normal. No one really knew what to say, not even Pogo, who normally was the one to make small talk. Silence.

Later, as Diego walked in to his room, he began to shuffle through his old records. Their dad was quite a snob for music, and, s much as he hated the old man, it had rubbed off on Diego as well. His collection was mostly classic rock, stuff that he would drum his knives to on the walls. He flipped a Lynyrd Skynyrd record in his hands- still gloved- before placing it on the wooden record player. His was the nicest in the house. Crisp and clean, with very little fuzz. 

He knew exactly where Simple Man was, down to the groove. He kept the music low, the song being one he didn’t want his siblings (especially Klaus) to hear. They didn’t need any more joke material.

He jumped on to his bed, which bounced under him a few times before subsiding. 

"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast”

His room filled slowly with song, along with a damp breeze. It flowed in through his open window, making the music also sound a bit muggy and humid. It was a nice touch.

“Troubles will come and they will pass”

“You know what’s crazy?” He said to particularly no one. Maybe the breeze was listening, “I can speak fine right now! But the second I have to say something to a-a-a-nyone…. Ugh, jinxed it.” 

He slowly crawled across his bed, sitting right beneath the window.

“Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself”

Klaus knocked not much longer after that, though he didn’t wait for a response. He wore his old schoolboy outfit and domino mask, thrilled that it fit again, “DiEGO, do you know where my-”

Under the open white window, Diego slept, sound as a babe. A knife -of course- was clutched loosely in his hand, and a silent record was no longer spinning. Klaus ducked his head as he walked over to his snoring brother. He carefully took the knife from his hand and placed it on the nightstand. Smiling sheepishly at Diego, he turned and left, closing the door very quietly behind him. 

Diego woke with the window closed.


	3. Dogbomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best accompanied with The Mute by Radical Face

“Wait, if we’re in the past…. Then where’s dad?” 

Another family meeting. Diego was tired of them now. They always ended frayed and scattered. They got them nowhere. However, Luther’s question was curious. Where was dad?

“He was tired of living,” Klaus sucked on a candy cigarette. Ben had strictly prohibited him from having any real drugs. His “little prepubescent body can’t handle anything.” That was another thing; Ben. No one had made a big deal of his return. In some way, they always knew he was there beside them. There was nothing to fill him in on, and it seemed only Klaus knew what to say to him.

“What?”

“That’s what he told me. He’s done with all…. This,” He gestured to the rest of them with the sugar stick.

“Seems like him,” Diego jumped up on to the counter, sitting beside Klaus. He missed sitting on the counter being the most rebellious thing he ever did. Their dad would freak everytime, always taking away Diego’s knives. Some nights, he and Klaus would sneak downstairs and just sit on random things. The top of the couch, the balcony railing, anything. Klaus would tell him of all the ghosts he saw in the mausoleum, and Diego was always contempt to listen.

“The old man is pretty predictable like that,” Klaus bit off a large chunk of the cigarette, chewing loudly, “can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“O-o-o-r a dead one,” Diego added with a hmmph. It was back. That one word, and it came back. Diego decided he was done with this meeting, “Well, g-g-g-good talk,” He turned to walk back to his room.

“Wait wait wait,” Allison grabbed his shoulder, which the leather knife harness was now too big for, “This is important, Diego. You know, I heard a rumor…”

Suddenly, Klaus jumped behind her, wrapping his arms around her neck, pulling her back and causing her to almost fall, “You don’t ‘rumor’ your brother, Allison!”

Diego turned to her, his eyes slitted, angry and distraught, “I-I-I-Is that it? A-a-a-a-are y-you just going to rumor uuuus when y-you don’t like o-o-o-our decisions. Maybe I should slit your damn throat this time!” He turned around briskly, walking once again to his room. As he walked, he pulled a steel blade that sat in his pocket. He tossed it some times, catching the hilt. Before he entered his room, he tossed it behind him. The knife flew through the house, turning around corners and sliding through door frames. It landed on the ground, the tip pressed deeply in to the wooden floor just between Klaus’ feet.

His window was always his favorite spot. He remembered when they were younger….or, younger for the first time, he and Klaus would crack it open and push through. They used to sit on the fire escape in summer, staring up at the smoky city sky. It was one of their ‘brother things’ that the rest of the academy didn’t know about. There were more too. 

He cracked open the window again. This time, he didn’t need to set a loop on his dad’s security camera. He had figured out how to do that quite easily. His dad never seemed to notice. 

Diego pushed his way through the window, sitting on the railing of the rusted fire escape. He could almost smell the fresh cream sodas Klaus would sneak in, and the cheetos that covered their fingers in orange dust. Diego used to joke that Klaus was much more practical as a thief than a necromancer. He stopped saying that after Ben died. 

“Diego, darling,” He was startled from his nostalgia. Behind the window, leaning against the wooden door frame, stood his mother. That same smile was still on her face, toothless and bright red. He loved it.

He jumped down from the railing, beginning to climb back into his room, “Y-y-yes mom?” Some blinking and grimaces. His hand spazzed and hit the glass above him.

“I found you someone to help you,” Unchanging smile. She handed him a blue flyer, which he took curiously.

Dr. Bay  
Speech Language Pathologist  
All ages

Some more details were scattered. The address and Dr. Bay’s face, and a cute little border with bumblebees. His dad never let him go to speech therapy. He always had a “he’ll get over it” mindset. In a way, he was right, but now Diego had a chance to start over.

He looked up at his mother, his eyes wet and red. Yes. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops. Yes Yes Yes. He could be fixed. He could be found. 

He jumped up and hugged his mother, hiding his face in her shirt.

“I’ll sign you up for mondays, sweetie,” she gave him a soft pat on the head as they broke apart, that same grin on her face. She left quietly, her heels clacking endlessly on the ground. 

His voice would be heard.


End file.
